


Lemony Snicket’s Guide to Unfortunate Decisions

by Xavantina



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: (made by the characters and the author in equal measure), Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Boarding School, Consensual Underage Sex, Drunken sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, The Author Had Fun, The Author Regrets Nothing, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, although not that drunk, awkward teenage make-outs, the author has no shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 02:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: One-shot. Lemony knows Olaf is bad news, knows something is going on between him and Kit, knows this is a terrible – a word that here means both ‘dreadful’, ‘worrisome’, and all around ‘really really really really really awful’ – idea, but Olaf is standing outside his room with two bottles of wine and the script for the latest play the Drama Club will be staging tugged under his arm, claiming he wants to go over a few scenes together to make sure he truly understands Lemony’s authorial intent, and despite the fact that it’s past midnight, despite the fact that Lemony has homework to finish, despite the fact that the color of Olaf’s cheeks, the shine in his eyes, and the slight slur in his voice when he says ‘authorial’ proves that he has been drinking already, Lemony finds himself opening his door wider and stepping aside to let Olaf in.





	Lemony Snicket’s Guide to Unfortunate Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent as fuck, just the way I like it

There are both upsides and downsides to being a writer. The upsides are pretty obvious, in Lemony’s opinion: he gets to create something from nothing, he gets to do research and then pass on the information he has learned, and ever since he became the main writer for the Drama Club, he gets to entertain his fellow students, as well as provide training for them by sneaking Sebal Code into the scripts and seeing if they notice.

The downsides are causing more immediate problems for him at the moment: when you spend too much of your time writing, you end up neglecting your school work, and failing your classes is not a very good idea if you want to get anywhere in the V.F.D. 

That’s why Lemony is currently awake at a little past midnight, desperately trying to finish a paper on the underlying theories of Various Finery Disguises, running on unreasonable amounts of black coffee and sheer willpower, and also why he is not exactly pleased when someone knocks on his door in an irregular rhythm that can only be described as theatrical. He can vividly imagine the dramatic flourishes of the person’s wrist, and for that very reason, he already knows exactly who it is.

He should pretend to be asleep and not react. But no sooner than the thought occurs to him, his unwanted visitor shouts through the door; “I know you’re up, Snicket, there’s light coming out from under the door!”

Right. He’s going to write a letter of complaint about that to the administration first tomorrow, surely a school like Prufrock should be able to provide that students with dormitory doors that fit the door-frame properly.

Lemony takes a brief moment to prepare himself, heaves a sigh, and then gets up, walking over to the door while only dragging his feet a little bit. With his hand on the doorknob he puts on his best stern face – a phrase that here means a facial expression that in no uncertain terms conveys the fact that ‘I’m very busy and I don’t have time for you right now’ – and then opens the door.

Olaf’s face, meanwhile, is anything but guarded. In fact, Lemony hasn’t seen him grinning this wide since the last time they got a standing applause after a show. He is still in his uniform, parts of anyway, the blazer and the vest are missing, his tie is loosened way beyond school regulations, and his shirt couldn’t possibly have gotten this wrinkled during the course of the day, so he can’t have ironed it lately. More pressingly though, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining even brighter than normal. That might have something to do with the two bottles of wine he is holding in his hands, one of which is already open.

“Good evening, sir” he says, doing a small bow while carefully angling the wine bottles to avoid spilling anything from them.

“Where did you get those?” Lemony asks. To his annoyance he sounds more nervous than disapproving and can’t keep himself from leaning forward to glance up and down the hallway to make sure no one else is out there. Olaf might be the one holding the wine right now, but the ban on alcohol in enforced very strictly at Prufrock, so just by virtue of standing next to him Lemony might also face some pretty unfortunate consequences if Olaf gets caught.

Olaf smirks. “I can’t just reveal my sources like that. You must know that, as a budding journalist.”

Lemony rolls his eyes but lets it go. “What are you doing here?”

Olaf tilts his chin down towards his side and for the first time Lemony notices the script tugged under his right arm. “I’ve been practicing my lines for _Violets and Falcons in Darlington_ ” – the title of the play is obviously a metaphor that Lemony is actually quite proud of coming up with and he is certain the audience will understand it perfectly once they’ve seen the play (although he’s not _entirely_ sure the rest of the cast, present company included, understands it) - “and I have some questions I want to ask you.”

“Questions?” Lemony repeats.

“Yeah, there are some places where I’m worried I might not fully understand the authorial intent, and since you’re the author, who better to ask?” His voice slurs a bit at the word ‘authorial’. He is still smiling broadly, like this is a perfectly sensible explanation for turning up at someone’s door in the middle of the night with ample amounts of alcohol. 

“It’s very late, O, and I have a paper to finish,” Lemony tries to reason, “Can’t we go over it tomorrow?”

A boy of 17 really shouldn’t pout like Olaf does, or be able to twist his face into an expression of such childlike disappointment. And Lemony certainly shouldn’t be feeling affected by it either, but damn it, he is. Olaf looks almost... cute – a word that here means something Lemony is not willing to linger on or define, because it is ridiculous and wrong to even think it.

“Come on, Lemony” Olaf pleads, “It won’t take long. And I even brought us wine!” 

“Keep your voice down,” Lemony hisses. “Do you want to get expelled for that?”

The other boy shrugs. “You seriously believe all your neighbors aren’t hiding booze in their rooms too? You’re such a goody two shoes.”

Lemony crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling more defensive than he probably should, probably because he hates that Olaf is right about his adherence to regulation these days. “We have rules for a reason.”

“And we can discuss why those rules are ridiculous once you’ve invited me inside and we’ve had a few glasses.” When Lemony doesn’t move, he adds, “It’s very fine vintage, actually. Châteauneuf-du-Pape.” To Lemony’s surprise, he pronounces the name correctly.

Here’s the thing: Lemony might be what Olaf so eloquently calls a ‘goody two shoes’ at the moment, but he also has the spine of a particularly pathetic invertebrate, and standing up to people his own age is not something he excels at, to put it mildly. So here they are, the unstoppable object that is Olaf meeting the very movable object that is Lemony Snicket. He never stood a chance.

But he still makes sure to look as grudging as possible while he opens the door completely and steps aside. “Half an hour and not a minute longer.”

“Scout’s honor,” Olaf says, as he strolls past Lemony and heads straight for his bed. Once there he drops the script on the comforter, sits down crossed legged by Lemony's pillow, puts the unopened wine bottle on the floor, and gestures in Lemony’s direction with the other one. “Do you have glasses, or are we going to have to drink from the bottle?”

As a matter of fact, Lemony doesn’t have any glasses in his room. He does however have a number of tea mugs, which Olaf declares perfectly acceptable substitutes, as it ‘means we won’t have to pour so often.’ Lemony tries not to cringe when he is handed a mug that has been filled to the brim before he even has a chance to sit, but he kind of brought this on himself, and it would be impolite to back out now.

“What should we toast to?” Olaf asks. “Our continued theatrical success?”

Lemony can’t help but smile wryly. “All right.”

Olaf holds up his mug and dramatically proclaims, “To _Violets and Falcons in Darlington_ , the latest masterpiece from the fiercely talented Lemony Snicket, and to his fabulous leading man, Count Olaf.”

Lemony lifts his own mug in response and then quickly drinks to try to cover up the fact that he is most definitely blushing. He was never any good at accepting compliments on his work, even coming from people who wouldn’t know good writing if it shot them in the face with a harpoon gun, which, let’s be honest, Olaf wouldn’t.

When he meets Olaf’s eyes, Olaf is looking very pleased with himself. Clearly the effect of his words was obvious. Not willing to lose more face than necessary, Lemony stubbornly holds Olaf’s gaze even as he takes another large mouthful of wine, and then another, but all that does is make Olaf’s smirk even more pronounced, the right side of his eyebrow quirking upwards to match.

Lemony clears his throat after swallowing, noting that the wine is perfectly drinkable, if a bit strong. He’s going to have to be careful, he’s a notorious lightweight and dinner was a long time ago. Meanwhile Olaf could out-drink a god from Greek mythology, so the last thing he wants to do is start an unspoken drinking competition. “So,” he says, “What’s giving you trouble?”

“The introductory monologue, the first meeting between Sir Alfred and Miss Elizabeth, and the scene where they confess their love.”

‘So pretty much a quarter of your lines’ Lemony does _not_ say, rather he nods, drinks some wine to keep from rolling his eyes, and goes to his desk to find a copy of the script. This is going to take way longer than he had hoped.

“All right,” Olaf says and gets to his feet, clearing his throat and straightening like he was an actor from the 18th century instead of a hopeless school boy with illusions of grandeur. He pauses for effect.

Lemony takes another gulp of wine and braces himself.

He’s glad that the alcohol has started hitting home already, because it makes it a lot easier to keep a straight face. Olaf truly is a terrible actor when left to his own devices – a phrase that here means that he manages to somehow overact and underact at the same time, going completely overboard with his body, face, and voice, and neglecting the words themselves. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that they are drowned out by the surrounding spectacle of noise and movement. If this was how Olaf performed on stage, the Drama Club would have been forced to kick him out years ago.

Luckily – and to everyone’s great surprise – Olaf takes direction extremely well, at least when it comes to acting. You would never suspect that that would be the case when you first meet him, but if you find a firm and talented director, the horror that Lemony is experiencing right now can be shaped into something that is perfectly watchable, even, dare he say it, good. The fact that Kit is currently their director probably has something to do with it. She approaches the role with the same tenacity as she does everything else, she’s nothing if not a perfectionist, and she will keep them stuck in rehearsal for as long as it takes before she’s satisfied with the result. And Olaf appears exceedingly willing to do absolutely anything the please her in this aspect of their lives. 

But during the initial group readings, before rehearsals start and Kit steps in to tell him exactly what to do, when Olaf is simply left to his own devices? He is horrendous.

Lemony has been so successful in tuning him out and letting his mind wander that it takes him a few seconds to notice that Olaf has finished his lines and is looking at him expectantly.

This puts Lemony in the slightly uncomfortable position of having to provide some sort of concrete feedback that is more constructive than ‘that was awful, please don’t ever speak words I have written out loud ever again for as long as you live’. It can’t be too critical, because he doesn’t want to piss Olaf off – a phrase that here means to give him an excuse to stay here longer than necessary just to shout at Lemony for a while, but it can’t be too complimentary either, lest Olaf grows suspicious and figures out that he is lying. To stall for time Lemony reaches for his mug and drinks several mouthfuls, emptying it of wine. Olaf immediately darts forward to pick up the bottle and refill it. Lemony notices that the bottle is almost empty when he is done. The mugs are obviously bigger than he thought, and Olaf is obviously more bent of getting him to drink than he had hoped. This is not going to end well. He needs to speed things along.

An idea occurs to him, and if he was the sort of person who mentally high-fives himself he would have done it. Self-five. Heh. 

“What do you feel is the essence of Sir Alfred’s character at this point of the plot?”

Olaf narrows his eyes for the briefest of moment, long enough for Lemony to worry that he put his money on the wrong horse, but then his frown evens out and is replaced with a confident smile. He is thrilled to be able to show off how he has understood the depth of Lemony’s writing, sitting down on the bed and launching into an analysis of Sir Alfred’s character that isn’t _entirely_ off the mark, but nowhere near as complex as the one the text, in Lemony’s opinion, presents.

Lemony allows himself to tune the other boy out for a bit once more, sipping his wine and nodding at random intervals. At least until Olaf drops a bombshell;

“Actually, one of the things I wanted to ask you about specifically is the cucumber joke. Is that supposed to be a gay sex joke? Just a phallic reference? Does Sir Alfred bat for both teams?”

If he had had wine in his mouth Lemony would have choked on it. He really didn’t expect Olaf to pick up on that, seeing as it’s an - 

“I assume it’s an _Importance of Being Earnest_ reference and, knowing Oscar Wilde, it was definitely a gay reference when he made it. And Sir Alfred isn’t so different from Algernon in some ways, is he?”

Okay, this is actually freaking Lemony out a little. Not only has Olaf read one of Wilde’s plays, he understood it too. At least he understood the dick jokes. And this obviously surprises Lemony to a point where he isn’t managing to keep it from showing, because Olaf looks mildly offended now.

“What? You think I only read the plays we perform?”

‘Well… yeah’ Lemony does _not_ say, rather he flounders and mumbles incoherently for a few seconds before settling on, “Of course not, I just would have thought you were more into the classical stuff, like Shakespeare.” That’s a lie, Olaf’s reading comprehension definitely doesn’t extend to understanding Shakespeare, but it’s a compliment, and the easiest way to defuse an escalating crisis with Olaf is to compliment him.

It works beautifully. Olaf goes right back to smiling. “I still think I made a better Hamlet than you did.”

‘You probably would have, if you had understood a word of what you were saying’, Lemony thinks somewhat bitterly, and then soldiers on into an actual answer to Olaf’s question.

“Sometimes a cucumber is just a cucumber.”

Olaf snorts, eyebrow twisting. “Right.”

“This is not one of those cases.”

The other boy bursts out in a truly contagious bout of laughter, and as it carries on Lemony stops worrying about someone overhearing than and starts laughing along instead. It’s freeing. He’s pretty sure the former crisis was averted just fine too, but he feels obligated to tell Olaf that yes, it’s a homoerotic joke that plays on the stereotype of an effeminate upper-class Englishman, which leads Olaf to ask whether he should be acting ‘gayer’, to which Lemony tells him to be very subtle about it, something he has no doubt won’t be the case, when Olaf stands and tries the monologue again.

This is… impressive. The basic overacting/underacting problems are still there, but much less pronounced. It’s like having been given a concrete, correct piece of characterization has allowed Olaf to suppress his own impulsive performance a little, and not only that, he does upper-class twit pretty well. Lemony had feared some seriously offensive stuff when he admitted to the homoeroticism, but it’s barely visible. No lisping, not loose wrists, just a sense of subtle flowy grace in the way he carries himself. It’s a huge improvement. Lemony silently congratulates himself and drinks to his own success without thinking about it further.

That leads them to the meeting of Sir Alfred and Miss Elizabeth. Before Lemony has even flipped to the right page, Olaf says, “You’ll read for Elizabeth, right?”

Lemony pauses briefly, but it seems like the logical thing to do in this situation. It means he has to stay focused on the action, but he can do that. His mind is starting to grow pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. A little voice cries out that this is bad, but it’s drowned out by the surrounding feeling of content. He drinks some more wine and gets up to join Olaf, moving to the middle of the floor.

This is actually easier. Olaf launches into the dialog, acting much the same was as he did during his second stab at the introduction, which isn’t exactly a wrong choice. As a matter of fact it’s just right. Bad, but technically correct from a textual perspective. He gets another thing exactly right: while Lemony remains standing still, symbolizing Miss Elizabeth’s calm, grounded personality, Olaf is constantly moving around him like a cycling bird of prey. Hence the falcon part of the title. The realization that Olaf apparently _made that connection all on his own_ isn’t even enough to genuinely worry Lemony, he’s busier trying to read the lines while Olaf keeps brushing up against him as he moves past again and again. His body heat is really distracting.

As they carry on, Lemony notices that Olaf is starting to adapt. He’s tuning down his performance to better match Lemony’s much calmer demeanor and his measured way of speaking, yet he retains the previous veneer of sophisticated upper-class gentleman, even though the words he is speaking are anything but polite. Somehow Lemony gets drawn into the whole thing and before he knows it he’s no longer looking at the script, but at Olaf. He starts acting for real, not just reading his lines, and Olaf looks momentarily delighted as he sweeps very close to deliver a scorching insult, which Lemony bears with the resolute bravery he wants to see in Beatrice when she plays the part. Miss Elizabeth is not backing down, and neither is Lemony. The tension keeps rising higher and higher and Olaf keeps getting better and better until Lemony finds himself unable to find something to complain about.

Which somehow doesn’t make him pause and reconsider this entire situation, it just thrills him in that moment.

The scene ends with Miss Elizabeth getting in Sir Alfred’s face and obliterating him with a flurry of insults. It will look great when Beatrice and Olaf perform it, her tiny, delicate frame a stunning contrast to the power of the words. As it is, Lemony is considerably taller than Olaf, so tall that he has to lean down to get close, which turns out to be a lot more intimate than he had predicted. Still he carries on, the lines flowing effortlessly off his tongue as he pushes even further into Olaf’s personal space, until they’re almost kissing, until… until he realizes what’s happening two seconds after delivering the last of his lines and lingering for no reason. He jerks back inelegantly, turning and striding as far away from Olaf as he can in his small room. Which is a totally justified reaction, because it’s what Miss Elizabeth does. 

Olaf still looks disappointed when he turns back, until he seemingly comes to the same conclusion; that this was actually in keeping with the script.

Lemony goes for the wine and empties his mug. Olaf copies him and starts opening the second bottle while he asks, “How was that?”

“Very good,” Lemony croaks, something he never thought he’d be saying in all honesty to Olaf, ever. “It was really good. You got it just right.”

Olaf _beams_ at him, his eyes bright and brilliantly blue. Lemony can’t stop himself from staring into them and smiling too, it’s too infectious for any other reaction.

He doesn’t allow Lemony to take any kind of break, but flips quickly through his script. “From the top of page 59?”

Lemony fumbles to find the right place, and discovers that it’s the beginning of the scene where the two lovers confess their feelings for each other. Now he hesitates, but apparently his body doesn’t, because he finds himself nodding and putting down his wine again.

They start on their feet this time as well, and Olaf is perfect from the get-go, something that once again doesn’t worry Lemony even though it definitely should. Neither does the fact that he isn’t even glancing at his script. He starts out all aggressive like before, getting up in Lemony’s face, but as they carry on bantering his gestures and words grows softer around the edges and he starts pulling further away when Sir Alfred starts realizing his true feelings. He grows hesitant. Miss Elizabeth in turn grows more confident, and when Olaf sits down on Lemony’s bed to signal his surrender, Lemony follows, sitting down close to him. He lets himself get lost in his own words and Olaf’s way of speaking them. The tension grows somehow tender.

And yet it still surprises him when Olaf leans in for the kiss that the script demands, but he is so caught up in the play that he doesn’t resist. The kiss it gentle, slow, just like it’s supposed to be. But then it just... doesn’t end. Instead Olaf tilts his head and deepens it, his lips coaxing Lemony’s apart and his tongue sneaking into his mouth. Rather than pulling away, Lemony moans deep in his chest, embarrassingly loud, and that is what finally makes him snap out of it.

He manages to get a foot of distance between their faces initially, but Olaf does the bird of prey act again, swooping forward with stunning precision, so Lemony has to turn his face to avoid kissing him.

Olaf makes a frustrated noise. “Come on, Snicket. It’s in the script.”

“Bullshit,” Lemony says, feeling perfectly justified in his use of profanity. “It’s in the script that they kiss, what you’re doing is trying to make out with me.”

Olaf starts smirking. “Guilty as charged. Now come here, you idiot.”

Lemony almost falls back on the bed, that’s how far he has to arch to get away from Olaf this time. His abdominal muscles are forced to work in this position and he starts quivering from the strain, feeling a lot less in control of his body than usual. Oh God, it’s the wine. Why did he drink the wine?!

This is the point where Olaf stops. Lemony doesn’t know whether he expected him to just pounce and pin him down, or if some part of him might even have wanted it, but the fact of the matter is that Olaf moves away and allows Lemony to straighten too. Olaf’s expression has turned very serious, a stark contrast to the flush on his cheeks and shine in his eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I-...” Lemony falters. “I don’t know,” he says, and it’s the truth.

“That’s helpful, thank you, Snicket.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lemony says sardonically, “I should definitely have a prepared a response for situations like this.”

“You get in situations like this often?” Olaf teases, apparently unmoved by the biting comment.

Lemony rolls his eyes. “I was being sarcastic.”

“I know,” Olaf says, perfectly unperturbed. “I was being funny.”

“It’s not funny,” Lemony protests. He suddenly feels very tipsy. Not so much that he fears his mental faculties have been compromised, but enough that his body is a lot more interested in finding out what Olaf wants than it normally would have been.

“It’s a little bit funny,” Olaf insists. He grins as if that proves his point. “We don’t have to fuck, you know. We could just make out.”

Lemony isn’t sure what troubles him the most, Olaf’s childish way of phrasing his suggestions, the actual suggestions, or how interested he is in both of them.

“Or I can leave and we can pretend this never happened.”

That one was somehow unexpected. He doesn’t know why. Olaf doesn’t strike him as the kind of person who would physically force himself on one of his friends, but he isn’t the type to just give up either when there’s something he wants. And he apparently wants Lemony.

… Oh. He does, doesn’t he? Olaf _wants_ him. Wants to kiss him and have sex with him. The realization is a little overwhelming. All right, very overwhelming.

His facial expression must have been troubled, because Olaf has grown serious again. “L? You okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lemony lies.

Olaf snorts. “Sure. Look, I don’t mind. I clearly came on too strong, I’ll just leave and we won’t talk about it ever again.” He gets up on slightly wobbly legs, takes his script, and starts to walk away.

“No!” Lemony says a bit too fast and a bit too desperate. “I don’t-… I mean...” He wants to reach out and physically pull him back but Olaf is out of range, and although he isn’t moving further away, he’s not coming back over either. “You don’t have to go. I’m just not sure what I want.”

Olaf tilts his head. He looks like a bird, only this time it’s not one staring down its prey, more like a curious sparrow watching some unknown creature floundering about helplessly.

“Are you seriously going to leave me hanging here?” Lemony finally asks, seeking refuge in his good old comfort zone; bitchiness. 

Olaf smiles at him, shaking his head. “Fine. Be like that.” He returns to the side of the bed, throwing his script onto Lemony’s desk. “Do you wanna distance yourself from the reality of it? We can do some kickass role play in this situation.”

Lemony frowns. “No. I just want you.” The confession slips out before he knows what he’s saying, and there’s no taking it back.

The response is a genuine smile, and a hand reaching out to touch the side of his jaw. “I want you too, although I suppose you already figured that one out by now.”

“Yeah...” His cheeks feel warm.

“Is that so surprising, Snicket? That I would want you?”

“It’s unexpected. We aren’t even friends.”

Olaf withdraws his hand to put it to his chest in a gesture of mock-offense. “Really, L? You wound me.”

Lemony smiles somewhat apologetically. “We aren’t. We’re acquaintances.”

“Wow, that’s even more insulting than if you’d called us ‘associates’,” Olaf says.

“We will be once we graduate.”

Olaf smirks, all confidence and flirtatious swagger. “Or we will be fuck buddies.” At Lemony’s apparently outraged expression he amends the statement, “Friends with benefits?” 

“That sounds infinitely more adult.”

“Lovers?” Olaf pushes it.

“No way.”

“Ah well,” Olaf says. “I guess I’m letting my inner romantic run amok.”

Lemony laughs a little. “You have an inner romantic?”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t be so charmed by your plays, you great big sap,” he replies and punches Lemony’s shoulder playfully.

He is blushing again. How can Olaf reduce him to this just by complimenting his skills as a writer? It’s pathetic.

They enter a somewhat tense silence, their banter seemingly at an end. Lemony is on the verge of starting to fidget when Olaf comes to the rescue; “So how about I kiss you again?”

Lemony clears his throat in the hopes of sounding sure of himself when he answers, but it’s still awkward as hell, “Yes, I believe I would like that.” 

Olaf’s face splits into a grin that a more crude person might refer to as ‘shit-eating’, but Lemony decides to call it ‘self-satisfied’, even though it doesn’t really describe the extent of the broadness of it. It doesn’t matter anyway, because Olaf leans forward within a second and then he’s too busy enjoying another kiss to keep worrying about expounding on the other boys facial expression. Lemony can still feel him smiling against his lips, and when he attempts to deepen the kiss himself this time Olaf actually snickers, meaning Lemony ends up with his lips clumsily pressed against Olaf’s teeth. It’s an incredibly embarrassing mistake and Lemony is about to shrink back, his cheeks burning furiously, but Olaf makes a comforting – if slightly patronizing - little cooing noise and grabs Lemony's chin to keep him steady while he takes control of the kiss again, which works out infinitely better, because Olaf obviously knows exactly what he is doing. His tongue teasingly runs along Lemony’s bottom lip until Lemony opens his mouth and allows him in. Olaf doesn’t shove his tongue down Lemony’s throat, quite the opposite, he’s surprisingly coy about it, drawing Lemony into a long, slow kiss that ebbs and flows for what feels like an eternity. Sometimes he pulls back a little and catches Lemony’s bottom lip between his own lips and teeth, tugging playfully, but never enough to be uncomfortable. Whenever they break apart for a moment to let themselves breathe more freely, Olaf plants a smaller, softer, closed-mouthed kiss on Lemony’s mouth like a signature, or a promise that he will be right back, and boy, does he deliver.

At some point he pushes Lemony back until he’s lying on his bed with Olaf next to him, and it’s even better like that, there’s no straining his neck or anything. He starts making discoveries; Olaf likes having his hair played with while they kiss. The skin below his jawline is sensitive, and he moans when Lemony strokes his fingers along the area. He tastes sweeter than the wine was, much sweeter. He smells of cigarette smoke and old laundry detergent. Lemony loves every single one of these facts and files them away for later revisiting.

He barely notices when Olaf starts moving closer, rubbing himself against Lemony’s body, pushing him onto his back, then throwing a leg over his hips until he’s half-straddling him, and aw fuck, Olaf is hard, he’s hard against Lemony’s thigh, lying in Lemony’s bed, and none of this is freaking him out even half as much as it probably should. It isn’t until he realizes that he is hard too that his mind starts to panic, because Olaf can definitely tell, what with his leg tossed over Lemony’s lap like that. Rationally, he shouldn’t feel embarrassed by this, being physically turned on in this situation, but he can’t help himself.

Olaf must have noticed that he has gotten distracted, because he breaks their kiss, breathing heavily as he keeps rocking against Lemony’s frame. Wait, Lemony has definitely been meeting his movements, he feels that when he stops and Olaf is the only one still going. For exactly one split second, then he immediately stills once he finds Lemony unresponsive. “Snicket?”

“Don’t call me Snicket while you’re dry-humping me, please.”

Something about that is apparently funny, because Olaf snorts loudly and it trails into a little giggle. “Sorry. Lemony.”

“Thank you.”

“Too much?”

Lemony tries to figure out whether it was, but it’s very hard, pun not intended, to focus with Olaf so close still. “I don’t know. I just got a bit overwhelmed, I think.”

“I take pride in being overwhelming,” Olaf says and actually _waggles_ his eyebrow, which is probably meant to look charming and roguish, but instead simply looks ridiculous, so ridiculous that Lemony bursts into surprised laughter and doesn’t stop until Olaf’s initially shared amusement starts to morph into confusion and concern.

He gets himself under control and apologizes, which Olaf gracefully accepts. “I’m fine now. You can… keep doing what you were doing.”

Olaf smirks wickedly down at Lemony, “Remind me, what was I doing?”

“Um,” Lemony says, face flushing. “Kissing. Moving.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the eloquent one, L?” Olaf teases.

“I already said it once, don’t make me repeat the word.”

“What, dry-humping?” Olaf asks innocently. “I like that word. _And_ the act itself.” He punctuates the statement with a little thrust of his hips, which lets Lemony know that even being laughed in the face isn’t enough to make Olaf lose an erection. That’s almost impressive. Then again, Lemony hasn’t exactly gone soft either, something that becomes abundantly clear when Olaf suddenly shifts until he is straddling Lemony’s lap completely, their erections pressed tight together. It’s a very new sensation, but not bad, and when he sits up and starts rocking gently back and forth, Lemony’s eyes fall shut from the pleasure of it. He quickly opens them again when Olaf moans deeply, a noise so appealing that he needs to add a visual to go along with it. 

And what a visual it is, Olaf in his rumbled shirt and loose tie, his cheeks flushed bright red and his eyes shining, breathing shallowly while he moves his hips, the muscles of his thighs clenched tight under Lemony’s hands when he reaches down to grab a hold of them. It’s a sight for the ages.

Olaf’s own hands are now braced against Lemony’s pectoral muscles, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt every so often. Lemony becomes aware of them moving pretty quickly this time around, as they slide up, aimed at the knot of his tie. Clothes are potentially coming off now. That’s okay, he realizes, and Olaf must have seen the look of consent in his eyes, because he deftly pulls Lemony’s tie loose and tosses it over one shoulder, then starts unbuttoning his shirt with much surer fingers than Lemony would have been able to manage. Removing it without throwing Olaf off takes a little work, but he manages to shrug it off and with Olaf’s help the undershirt joins it on the floor.

Olaf sits back on his heels, eyes roaming down Lemony’s chest, a small, appreciative smile on his lips. “Nice,” he says, running finger running through Lemony’s chest hair, nails scratching lightly when they reach his stomach, hard enough to tickle but not exactly hurt. He seems pleased with the way Lemony’s abdominal muscles twitches when he inevitably laughs a little. “Ticklish too? Remind me to exploit that at a later date.”

“Please don’t,” Lemony replies, smiling when he says it.

“You’re not the boss of me, Snicket.” 

Lemony rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I politely ask you not to-...”

“You most certainly didn’t ask politely,” Olaf interrupts. His fingernails cut into Lemony’s stomach again and he’s grinning wickedly. “You told me to. Do you think you get to tell me what to do, _Snicket?_ ”

It’s an invitation if Lemony ever saw one, and the implications send a little rush of excitement causing through Lemony’s veins. Olaf wants to be told what to do. Now the only problem is that Lemony has no idea how to go about that. One thing springs to mind though: “Come down here and kiss me again.”

Olaf complies immediately, leaning down and kissing Lemony with renewed enthusiasm, all the while pawing tirelessly at his chest. It occurs to Lemony that it must be his body hair that Olaf likes. Huh. He never considered whether that could be a turn-on. Not that he’s ever thought about whether any part of him might be a turn-on or not, it’s not something he worries about.

Something he is starting to worry about tough, as Olaf’s hands start trailing down to his belt, is the discrepancy between their states of undress. More specifically that Olaf is still fully dressed and if he gets to continue, he will have Lemony naked without having removed a single piece of clothing himself. And while the feeling of his shirt against Lemony’s naked skin is nice, it seems fundamentally unfair. “Stop.”

Olaf freezes, pulling up and away with a look that is equal parts surprised and worried. “What’s wrong?”

Lemony swallows. “I want you to get up and undress,” he says in his firmest voice, adding, “It’s only fair.” 

A smile spread over Olaf’s mouth and he moves off Lemony until he is standing on the floor next to his bed. Feeling awkward on his back now, Lemony sits up and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, Olaf right in front of him.

Olaf undresses with surprising efficiency, grinning while Lemony just stares at him, taking in every inch of skin being bared to him. Olaf is not as skinny as he had thought he would be. He is a lot leaner than Lemony, sure, but not comically so. His skin is smooth and flushed, stretched over well-defined muscles that shift when he moves. His legs are long and thin, and his hipbones are nice too, while the trail of hair leading from his belly button and south into his briefs is downright intriguing. He looks really good for a man, Lemony decides, even if his frame of reference is severely lacking on this subject.

And then Olaf takes off a sock and something falls to the hardwood floor with a ‘clank’. Lemony automatically looks down and it takes him only a split second to recognize the object as a butterfly knife. That’s definitely against school regulations. That’s definitely not something a noble volunteer carries around on their person.

Olaf stops moving and his voice is deadly serious when he speaks, “You didn’t see that.” There’s a dangerous, cold look in his eyes, the change from his previous mirth so jarring that Lemony feels an instant chill run down his spine, his entire body tensing.

“I didn’t see that,” he repeats.

Olaf studies his face closely for a long moment and then relaxes, effortlessly slipping back into his previous jovial expression and fluid posture like nothing happened, kicking the knife under the pile of their clothes he has created and removing his other sock. “Now then, where were we?”

“Umm,” Lemony not-quite says. “I don’t know.”

“Does that mean I get to decide?” Olaf asks, and the smile he is giving Lemony isn’t reassuring, though it isn’t exactly predatory either. It’s the sort of smile that can mean anything, and personal experience has left Lemony wary of people who smile like that. 

Unfortunately not wary enough to ignore the other feeling it brings up; a terrible curiosity and an unshakable need to figure out _what_ it means.

“Yes,” he says, because it seems like the easiest way to proceed.

The smile turns sinful and Olaf pounces, his mouth latching onto Lemony’s chest right above his heart. Lemony makes a surprised noise that morphs into a moan when Olaf quickly moves on to suck on his nipple, then continues south with an obvious destination in mind, putting a hand in the middle of Lemony’s solar plexus and pushing until he’s lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling while Olaf pulls down his pants and kneels on the floor between his legs. He wonders if it’s a faux pas to sit up again so he can watch what Olaf is doing, but just as he starts to consider it Olaf has gotten his underwear out of the way and a firm, wet tongue snakes its way up Lemony’s length from root to tip, and Lemony realizes that it’s probably better to start off like this, lest he embarrass himself by coming before they’ve even gotten started. 

But fucking hell, that is going to be difficult either way, because Olaf is _good_ at this. Yes, again Lemony hasn’t got a lot to compare it with, but surely a blowjob is a great blowjob when the recipient feels like their entire being is getting sucked out through their dick. It’s just so hot and wet and slick and Olaf is swallowing him all the way down his throat like it’s nothing, over and over in the same steady rhythm that has Lemony’s toes curling and noises coming out of his mouth that he would find embarrassing if he wasn’t so lost in the pleasure Olaf was giving him. As it is his only regret it that his own groans are constantly drowning out the sounds Olaf is making, pleased little moans, truly obscene wet noises as he keeps on sucking even though he’s drooling all over the place. 

A wet thumb is suddenly rubbing the patch of skin behind his balls and Lemony makes a noise of protest and sits up as his feels his pleasure threaten to overtake him, “Olaf, no, I’m gonna...” Olaf has his cock in his mouth and he stills has a hard time saying it, that’s just pathetic. “If you don’t stop I’ll come right now.”

Olaf pulls his mouth from Lemony’s dick with a lewd slurp, laughter in his bright eyes. “That’s the goddamn point, L.”

“But what about-...”

“You’re 17, you idiot. If you can’t get it up again within five minutes, I’ll be seriously worried,” Olaf remarks, stroking Lemony’s dick absentmindedly while he speaks, the spittle that’s covering it making his fingers slide easily up and down and keeping Lemony dangerously close to the edge. “Agreed?”

Lemony nods shakily.

The ghost of a wicked smile comes sneaking across Olaf’s lips. “Say it. Tell me what you want.”

Even his ears feel like they’re burning, but Lemony has read somewhere that male libido is a powerful thing, and he’s starting to see that point. “I want you to suck my cock and make me come in your mouth,” he manages with barely a stutter.

Olaf looks mighty pleased and very turned on when he lowers his mouth back down to Lemony’s crotch and takes him back inside, lips sealed tighter than before. If Lemony thought he had been moving at breakneck pace before, it’s nothing compared to now. Olaf is a man on a mission, sucking Lemony’s cock like it’s his god-given purpose in life to make him come. He gets his will sooner rather than later; a minute at most of hard suction and that damn thumb teasing his perineum and Lemony feels it all come crashing down, the pressure releasing as he comes hard enough to makes his world spin on its axis, spilling comes down Olaf’s throat with a groan that his neighbors definitely must hear. He can’t bring himself to care though, he only cares about the feeling of Olaf swallowing around his cock, over and over until he finally stops coming, collapsing on the bed and trying to catch his breath.

From his spot on the floor, Olaf starts chuckling to himself. “That was beautiful.”

“Oh yeah?” Lemony slurs, struggling to keep his eyes open. He’s starting to feel fuzzy from the wine again. “Sorry I didn’t warn you.”

“I could care less.”

Lemony flinches in his quiet mind, the urge to correct Olaf’s grammar downright unbearable. But he’s pretty sure that it’s frowned upon in society as a whole to do that when a person is kneeling between your legs, wiping your come from the corner of their mouth, which is exactly what Olaf is doing when Lemony sits up and looks down at him. He’s also grinning again, as if Lemony is the funniest thing he ever saw.

“Come on then, I know you want to,” he says.

Lemony frowns. “What?”

“Doooo it,” Olaf sing-sings, “You’ll feel better.”

The frown deepens. “You know.”

He would have thought it impossible for Olaf’s smile to widen, but it somehow does. “It’s ‘couldn’t care less’,” he says. “You sister corrects me on a daily basis.”

It’s hard to decide whether to be uncomfortable at the mention of Kit and indignant that Olaf would provoke him by purposefully making grammatical mistakes, so Lemony decides to do neither – which in this particular case means he leans forward and smacks Olaf’s shoulder. “You’re a goddamn brat, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” Olaf replies, and he sounds proud of the fact too. “Can I join you on the bed, please? My knees are killing me.”

Feeling uncharacteristically playful, Lemony pretends to consider it. “I don’t know, I normally have a no-brat policy when it comes to my bed.”

Olaf gives him a knowing look. “I didn’t see you trying to kick me out ten minutes ago. But I appreciate the fact that you have high standards for your sexual partners.”

“Obviously not high enough.”

At that Olaf laughs, getting up on slightly wobbly legs and kicking Lemony’s foot. “Lie down, asshole.”

And then he pushes off his underwear and climbs back on top of Lemony like it’s nothing. Which most certainly isn’t the case. Lemony has never seen another guy naked and aroused before, and he’s pretty sure he’s staring as Olaf settles down straddling Lemony’s thighs once more. Having nothing to compare it to, he’s unsure what to think about Olaf’s dick. He supposes it nice, at least that’s his best guess. It’s long, slimmer than his own, and it’s very, very hard, the tip glistening with precum already. 

“Feel free to touch me,” Olaf says after what must have been an embarrassingly long moment of hesitation on Lemony’s part. 

“Sorry,” Lemony mutters, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around him. It feels like his own, hot and hard, but the skin is soft to the touch. He gives it an experimental stroke and Olaf makes a pleased little noise and closes his eyes. Thus emboldened, Lemony briefly lets go to drag his tongue across his palm, assuming that some kind of lubricant is a good idea, and then starts out slowly, stroking Olaf’s dick the same way he likes it himself, which is apparently good, because Olaf keeps making those delicious sounds, almost mewls, as his hips start rocking back and forth and he starts thrusting into Lemony’s closed fist, head lolling to one side. He opens his eyes then, fixing Lemony with an intense look and licking his lips. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to-… oh.” That’s a thing, isn’t it? Not wanting to taste your own semen. It makes little sense to Lemony at this moment. If Olaf was willing to swallow his load, than Lemony should definitely be willing to kiss him afterwards. He nods. 

Olaf leans down and presses their mouths together, and Lemony had almost managed to forget how amazing it felt to be kissing him. When Olaf teasingly swipes to tip of his tongue across Lemony’s bottom lips he responds instinctively by letting him in. It’s not gross to be able to taste himself on Olaf’s tongue, as a matter of fact it’s quite thrilling, so much so that between this and the feeling of Olaf’s cock in his hand, Lemony is proving the other boy’s point and quickly getting hard again at an alarmingly fast rate. Olaf must have noticed that also, because seconds later his fingers are wrapped around Lemony’s dick, stroking it with practiced ease as he shifts until he’s almost lying on top of him, but leaving enough room for their hands to work.

‘Work’. Lemony snickers at his own choice of words, and Olaf makes a questioning sound while flicking his wrist in a manner that draws a surprised moan from Lemony. “Sorry,” he whispers, briefly breaking their kiss. “I was phrasing things weirdly.”

“‘Phrasing things’?” Olaf asks.

“Inner monologue,” Lemony explains. “I kind of have one going at all times.”

Olaf snorts. “Of course you do. What’s it saying now?”

“That this feels really good,” Lemony says, because that’s exactly what he’s thinking. Very good indeed. He could get used to this, just lying in bed with Olaf, naked, exchanging handjobs like a couple of, well, teenagers. Which they just happen to be, so it’s perfect, really.

But Olaf appears to have more elaborate plans. “It can get better.”

Lemony’s eyebrows knit together in another frown. “Hmm?”

Olaf lets go of his dick (unfair) and shifts until he can reach down for his discarded clothes still lying by the side of the bed. He rummages briefly before finding what he was looking for, a small, nondescript tube. Lemony takes way too long to figure out what it is, and when he finally does he feels a shiver run down his spine as his face grows hot. “Oh.”

Olaf nods. “Oh,” he agrees, grinning at Lemony’s no doubt truly amazing facial expressions. “Obviously this is just an offer,” he says. “But if you wanna fuck me, I’d be more than happy to indulge you.”

Lemony swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. “Um. I’ve never done that before.”

“Oh, I know,” Olaf says breezily, like that’s the least of his worries. “It’s not hard.” Then, after a brief pause, he grabs Lemony’s dick with his free hand and opens his mouth to deliver what would have no doubt been the worst joke uttered by man, but luckily Lemony is faster, smacking his left hand across Olaf’s mouth and effectively silencing him. Olaf grumbles something unintelligible against Lemony’s palm, but to Lemony’s surprise he neither jerks his head back nor moves to get the hand off in any other fashion. The realization that Olaf’s kinks may extend even further than expected makes Lemony jerk his hand back from shock. Olaf does a little pout before inevitably smirking at Lemony’s distress. He doesn’t comment on it. Except he kind of does, because he starts going through the most distressing list Lemony has ever heard, talking with such casual ease that Lemony just knows he presented it before. “I liked that. I like having my hair pulled. Sometimes I like being choked, but only lightly. I like being held down, or tied up. I like being told what to do. I have a bit of a praise kink, although that one should be obvious even to you.”

“That’s a kink?” Lemony asks in a squeaky voice.

“Being praised? Of course that’s a kink.” Olaf shakes his head. “Damn, you really do have limited experience with this sort of thing, don’t you, L?”

Feeling a little indignant, Lemony gives Olaf’s dick a hard tug and the other boy responds with a gasp. “I like it rough,” he says then, smiling like he meant to trick Lemony into doing that. “Do you wanna get rough with me?”

“Uhm,” Lemony vocalizes, then says, “If you want me to.”

Olaf lets out a little huff of laughter. “I want you to,” he assures him.

Feeling suddenly daring, Lemony grabs Olaf by his hips and uses his superior size and strength to flip them both over, managing to get Olaf under him without injuring either of them. Olaf laughs with joy until Lemony leans down and kisses him hard, at which point he starts moaning with unconscionable delight, louder once Lemony gets his hand around his cock once more and starts stroking him a lot firmer than he was doing earlier. 

He really wasn’t lying about liking it rough, Lemony realizes, and he had been holding back so far. Now he’s squirming on this sheets, clutching hard at Lemony’s shoulders while they kiss. Lemony bites his lip then, hard, and Olaf lets out an honest to god cry of pleasure. Thus emboldened, Lemony moves his hand to Olaf’s hair, grabbing a handful and tugging experimentally. Olaf immediately responds, throwing his head back and baring his throat to Lemony’s mouth. He trails kisses along the length of it, occasionally pausing to suck a bruise, which must be another turn-on that Olaf neglected to mention, if his high-pitched moans are anything to go by.

They lie there for a while, Lemony alternating between sucking on Olaf’s neck while pulling his hair and jerking him off with growing confidence and finding his mouth again to kiss him again, something he’s starting to think he will never get tired of. A couple of times he has to slow down because he can feel Olaf getting too close to coming, and that’s not in the cards at this point.

Finally Olaf has had enough and starts searching for the lube, which he dropped somewhere in the sheets when Lemony flipped him over, although he doesn’t stop squirming and arching his hips up, which complicates his search. Lemony finally takes pity on him and slows the movement of his hand, breaking their kiss, and allowing Olaf space to explore the bed. “A-ha!” he exclaims when he’s finally successful. “Do you want me to take care of business myself? Some guys don’t like to do it the first times?”

“Do what?” Lemony asks, already embarrassed that he’s probably missing some vital information.

Olaf snorts. “I may be more experienced than you, but if I’m going to take that-” he nods down at Lemony’s crotch, “- I’m going to need some warm-up.”

“Oh. Of course,” Lemony says, feeling predictably stupid now. “Um, I can do it, if you walk me through it.”

Olaf smiles, eyes shining. “Sure.” He grabs Lemony’s left wrist, obviously unwilling to remove Lemony’s hand from his cock, and flips the cap of the tube open with his thumb. Then he pours a generous amount, more than Lemony would have guessed was needed, over his index and middle finger. “Just be careful in the beginning, all right?”

Lemony nods and shifts until he is kneeling between Olaf’s thighs. Olaf spreads his legs further apart, which is a sight in and of itself, and Lemony finds himself staring rather than acting until Olaf makes an impatient noise. No time like the present, Lemony thinks to himself, and slides his fingers behind Olaf’s balls. He has a pretty good knowledge of anatomy from his training, but it never prepared him for something like this. Acting on instinct he starts out circling Olaf’s entrance with his slippery fingers until he feels him relax, and then presses a single finger inside. Holy hell, he’s tight. Tight and hot and slippery from the lube, and Lemony has to wonder how on earth he’s going to fit his dick inside him, much less last more than a minute once he get it in.

But Olaf obviously isn’t in any pain, as a matter of fact he’s is breathing heavily while making intermittent little grunts, shifting on the bed as if he’s trying to get Lemony to do something besides just moving his finger in and out. Oh right, the prostate. Olaf really should have reminded him of that. Now that he has a mission it gets less awkward, especially once he succeeds after just a few tries. Olaf’s mouth opens in a silent ‘o’ before twisting into a smile, his eyes slipping shut. He’s starting to sweat, and his breathing is picking up even more.

“I can take another,” he says.

Lemony complies, even though he is tempted to point out that he’s the one who is supposed to be calling the shots. He’d rather get it right though, so he adds another finger. It goes in easier than he would have expected, and Olaf’s moans confirm that he’s not in any pain as Lemony starts thrusting his fingers back and forth, aiming for Olaf’s prostate with every stroke. Soon enough he has grown confident enough to try walking and chewing gum at the same time, a phrase that he means stroking Olaf’s dick in time with the movements of his other hand. If his increasingly high-pitched moans are anything to go by, Olaf is impressed by his efforts.

He’s starting to wonder if he needs to add another finger when Olaf breaks the rules by making another command; “You can go ahead now, I’m ready.”

“You sure?” Lemony asks, glancing down at his own cock. “I’m not exactly… small.”

Olaf chuckles. “No you’re not, but I’m sure.” He reaches for the lube again and pours some into his hand, then reaches for Lemony’s erection, which has been neglected for far too long. He does little more than palm it, spreading lube across it’s length while Lemony twist his fingers one last time and then pulls them out.

“I can ride you,” Olaf says. “But I’d like you on top.”

“Of course you do,” Lemony says, almost playful. “I can do that.” He lowers his mouth to Olaf’s and gives him one more slow, deep kiss, then grabs a hold of his dick and lines himself up to Olaf’s entrance.

He was right about Olaf being tight. For a moment he doesn’t even think that he can push inside him, but then something gives and Olaf sighs, and then he’s there, inside him at last. It’s so much tighter and hotter than Olaf’s mouth, and he has to rock back and forth a few times until he’s buried to the hilt. Lemony is sweating from the effort now too, and he can feel drops of it running down his spine as he slowly starts thrusting into Olaf’s body, keeping a careful eye on the other boy’s face to make sure there’s no signs of discomfort. There isn’t. Concentration, yes, but no pain. As a matter of fact, with every thrust of Lemony’s hips, Olaf’s face is growing more and more blissful.

“Harder.”

It’s like there’s a direct connection between Olaf’s breathy voice and Lemony’s hips, because they snap forward immediately, harder than before, and Olaf moans happily. “Harder,” he repeats.

“Why do I get the feeling-...” Lemony gasps, thrusting harder once, twice, three times. “That you won’t stop saying that unless I put my hand over your mouth again?”

Olaf chuckles as well as he can with his body rocking under the force of Lemony’s thrusts. “Because it’s damn likely.”

“Yeah, well,” Lemony manages to say while still keeping his new pace. “I only have two hands.” He reaches for Olaf’s dick with his left, the one still slick with lube and tries to jerk him off in time with his thrusts as well as he can, but it’s harder than expected. Olaf doesn’t seem to mind though, especially not when Lemony’s right hand finds its way to his hair again and pulls, harder than before.

“Fuck,” he cries. “Jesus Christ, Snicket, you’re a fast learner.”

“Don’t call me ‘Snicket’ when I’m inside you, _please_!”

Olaf bursts out laughing but can’t sustain it for long, since Lemony isn’t letting up. He ends up biting his bottom lip instead and suppressing tiny giggles, that is until Lemony changes the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he is unable to do anything but let out short moans with each push. He squeezes his eyes shut again and fumbles to hold onto Lemony’s shoulders, his entire body growing taunt with pleasure.

“You’re gorgeous.” The words come automatically, and they’re true, he does look gorgeous. And he whines now, canting his hips to meet Lemony again and again.

“Again.”

“You feel so good, Olaf, so fucking good,” Lemony continues, but he’s losing control of his voice, his second orgasm starting to creep up on him. Determined to make Olaf come first, he keeps talking, “You look amazing right now, all open and all mine for the taking. You’re gorgeous and handsome and fucking hot.”

He was preparing for more, but he doesn’t have to. With an abrupt cry, Olaf spills into Lemony’s hand and all over his own stomach, his arching off the bed as the pleasure runs through him. Lemony keeps moving as best he can, letting Olaf ride it out, but the tightening of his muscles makes it impossible to last. He comes seconds later, biting down on Olaf’s shoulder to keep from shouting.

They’re a right mess, Lemony realizes once he starts realizing things again. Tangled in a heap, drenched in sweat and covered in each other’s fluids. It’s simultaneously incredibly gross and incredibly satisfying. Olaf had gone completely boneless by the time Lemony flopped down next to him and draped an arm over his chest, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say he was falling asleep. Which he actually might be. Lemony can’t muster the energy to lift his head to check, so instead he drags his finger down the middle of Olaf’s chest, coating his fingertip with Olaf’s come. Very slowly he brings the finger to his lips and sucks it into his mouth. The sharp intake of breath from Olaf is enough to prove that he’s still awake.

“Fuck.”

And as coherent as always.

“That’s was amazing,” Olaf slurs. “Fucking amazing.”

“I’d comment on the profanity, but I agree,” Lemony says, chuckling when Olaf starts doing it.

They lie in silence for a while, just enjoying the closeness. Eventually Olaf breaks the silence with a truly heartbreaking question that sounds inordinately well-rehearsed, “Should I go?”

“What?” Lemony asks. “No!”

Olaf makes a pleased sound and twists his body around until he’s facing Lemony. “Good. Then I’d like to stay.” He winks at him, “Once we’ve cleaned up a little.”

Lemony groans, suddenly aware that semen gets very crusty and uncomfortable when it dries. “Fine. I’ll go get a washcloth from the bathroom. _If_ I can wear the sheets.”

“Sexy,” Olaf says, and they struggle for a while to get the tangled sheets out from under him, because he stubbornly refuses to get up.

Once Lemony has returned, once they’re as clean as they will be and back in bed together, Lemony’s previously alcohol and lust-clouded brain finally catches up to what should have occurred to him all through the night.

“You never needed my help in the first place. You already rehearsed, didn’t you?”

“With both Kit and Beatrice,” Olaf confirms, smiling smugly. “Are you angry?”

Lemony rolls his eyes. “No. Disappointed maybe. That you tricked me.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Olaf says and he sounds like he’s quoting someone. “At least that was what your sister said.”

Lemony freezes. “Kit knows you’re here?!”

Olaf hums in confirmation. “And Beatrice. They were very helpful during my initial preparations. Beatrice even told me what kind of wine you like.”

Lemony feels like he should be angry with all of them right now, a word that here means righteously furious and indignant to have been manipulated like this with the help of people he thought he could trust. Fortunately Olaf chooses this moment to plant a soft kiss below Lemony’s ear and whisper, “It was worth it, don’t you think? Just for tonight.”

Lemony sighs. “Just for tonight.”

“And maybe tomorrow.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, O.”

Olaf lets out a little laugh, tightening the arm he has slung over Lemony’s stomach. “I’m a real pro at getting ahead of myself,” he confides.

“I noticed,” Lemony says, half broken by a yawn he doesn’t manage to stifle. “Can we discuss it tomorrow?”

Olaf brazenly snuggles up to him and makes a pleased sound. “I can live with that.”

Lemony falls asleep first to the feeling of Olaf running his fingers through his chest hair and the sound of him humming some song Lemony doesn’t recognize. 

 

_Finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments if you liked this mess, it's what I live for on cold and lonely nights,


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